This is one of those holidays in which I always reflect on the sacrifices of millions.
The following photograph snapped in a hot war zone in the middle of the Mekong Delta, former Republic of Vietnam, drives that point home for me vividly. Not all of those fellows seated around that table are enjoying a perfect 3-day weekend in this world. That fellow on the far left is, though, the one covering his face. He is fortunate to be here pecking on a PC keyboard!
I want to dedicate this tribute to that fellow on the right wearing the dark glasses, the late Gunner's Mate Second Class Larry W. King, USN, formerly of Conway Arkansas, and his children and grandchildren who can't enjoy his dry sense of humor today at a family picnic.
Here is my war story for this Memorial Day, 2014. Larry was a 20 mm machine gunner on Monitor 7 of River Assault Squadron 15. Larry's brother Tommy, concurrently, was a twin-50 caliber Browning machine gunner in the forward mount of another type of river combat craft called a PBR. One day, Tommy's boat took a direct hit from a Chinese Communist rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) called a B-40. The blast tore apart the lower half of Tommy's body.
Medevac shipped Tommy out of country immediately, and the good doctors in Japan put him back together as best they could. Miraculously - six months later, Tommy was declared fit for duty. DoD had a policy that two brothers were not required to serve in Vietnam concurrently if one of them received a Purple Heart, but Tommy insisted that the Navy return him to his delta unit. "Let my kid brother, Larry, go home in my place!" Tommy insisted. "He has half a year left, and I can go home in a few months."
Our command notified Larry immediately that he was eligible to ship back stateside, and boy, was he incensed! "And let down my crew-mates who depend upon me?" he bellowed. The upshot is that both brothers served out their full combat tours of duty, but not before another B-40 rocket struck my gun mount one day. You see, I was the other 20 mm machine gunner on Monitor 7, the after-mount in a stepped-down position facing the fantail. Larry's mount was situated at the highest point of our 60-foot gunboat, amidships.
That damned CHICOM zinger rang my bell! It ripped my glasses off my face and blew away my sound-powered headset, our only safe communications on patrol. Everyone throughout the boat was screaming "Wildbill" into the infernal contraption. Little did I know with bared ears and a dazed stupid look on my face! Next thing I knew, daylight erupted above my head! Abruptly coming to my senses, somewhat, I believed I was being invaded by Hottentots or something! That damned intruder is lucky he didn't get my bayonet up his throat, for it instinctively materialized in my sweaty left palm!
Somehow, God intervened. In a nanosecond I realized that Larry was invading my cocoon, and that he was exposing himself to direct enemy fire with hardly any flak protection at all! Dropping the bayonet immediately, in one fluid motion, I grabbed Larry with both hands and manhandled him down into my already cramped quarters. What in the hell are you doing up there in the middle of a firefight, you stupid @#$%^&*?" I screamed at him.
"We thought you were dead, you dumb sh--!" he blared back without missing a beat in the, ahem, conversation.
"Well, if I was dead, coming back here wasn't going to help anybody," I told him, his face just an inch from mine. Realizing that, I guess, Larry started trying to squirm back out of the top of my gun mount. "What the hell are you doing now?" I cried, yanking him back into a near embrace. Go completely down through my mount to the coxswain flay level, move forward a few feet, and climb back into your mount where you'll have armor plate protection all around!" He looked at me dumbly for a second, then complied. I yelled after him, "Yeah, if you expose yourself out there again, I'll have you arrested for lewd behavior!"
That night, we all sat around the beer hall at the Dong Tam base camp, retelling the day's events and having a good laugh over the whole matter. Might as well have a chuckle. Crying tonight ain't gonna save you tomorrow if a bullet has your name on it.
Larry died very tragically back in the states before his youngest child reached majority - long before his time should have been up.
* * *
Larry, dammit! My brother... I'm in the process of writing a short story for your beloved family, so they'll have something else to remember you by as the clan you started grows to many generations of good Americans. In it, you are the hero of our Monitor crew in the muddy, deadly waters of the "Song Cua Long"! I was always the wild and crazy one - you know that - and I have no freaking idea why I'm enjoying this amazing spring day instead of you! You were just a slip of a fellow in physical stature, maybe 130 pounds soaking wet. But you were always the Steady Eddie, and if you could get your hands on enough ketchup, I'll bet you ate your weight in it every week! You're the only person I've ever known who would put half a bottle of that sweet red goo on an amazing 20 ounce sirloin steak!
Gotta run to the fridge and get a large glass of wine now and try to calm down, son. Gawd, I miss you! But I'm gonna share this with Al and John soon - the other two surviving members of the "Four Musketeers of the Mekong"! Hmmm... I wonder if that little gal we fixed you up with in My Tho that night survived the war. Heh, we never saw anyone resist a seminal event so vigorously and come back later with a smile as broad as the Arkansas River at Dardenelle!
In the picture - left to right - Wildbill, Al, John, and Larry - the Mekong Musketeers! Don't remember that fellow river rat on the far right. Maybe he was one of the snipes from the base camp YRBM. Those guys were always asking what life was like on the river. "Wet," I used to tell 'em. "Sometimes with blood."
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